


A Little Physicality To Inspire A Little Change

by davefoley



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dialogue Heavy, Double Penetration, M/M, POV Second Person, Porn With Plot, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 06:58:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15114188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/davefoley/pseuds/davefoley
Summary: Someone at the door surprises BJ at his humble abode and doesn’t surprise Hawkeye at all.





	A Little Physicality To Inspire A Little Change

**Author's Note:**

> this is one of the longest fics i've worked on, and the first one i've written in over 2 years, so please be kind haha
> 
> it's an au where most of it is fairly canon compliant but some stuff is just different like, uh, hawkeye not having that incident at the end. as of this writing i'm only just ending season 6 and starting season 7 soon, so forgive me if there's anything that would be construed as ooc or peculiar but for the most part, i'm working within that timeline. enjoy!
> 
> EDIT: changed the title and summary because i thought they were dumb

There’s nothing to be said about when a stranger knocks on the door to your modest bungalow tucked in the quiet part of Mill Valley with suitcase in hand and asks for a Benjamin Franklin “Hawkeye” Pierce. There’s nothing to be said about how he’s easy on the eyes, with a boyish smile that belies the crow’s feet that form when his eyes crinkle, and the way the brown curls of his hair explode out of his head.

What there is something to be said about, remains only in the way Hawkeye nearly knocks you over as he gets to a fantastic running start and leaps into the arms of said stranger, whose name you’ve learned upon touchdown.

“Trapper!”

“Ougf- Hey hey hey Hawk, easy on the sternum, I’m not as young as I used to be!”

And what more can even be said other than you don’t know what to expect, having Hawkeye’s best friend -- the one you usurped the “best friend turned temporary war time lover” title from -- visit the two of you. You can only quietly pretend you need to excuse yourself from a conversation you aren’t even a part of and make a beeline to the kitchen to break out the cheap whiskey.

“Beej where in the sam heck are ya, it doesn’t make sense to do proper introductions when the introducer has only one introducee!”

You fist one drink and handle two precariously in the other between your fingers. Should the opportunity arise, you can definitely splash one of them and make a quick getaway.

Just what exactly is the infamous ‘Trapper’ John McIntyre doing here?

  
  


\---

  
  


You remember the phone call like it was yesterday. It happened around three months ago, actually. For six months after the war ended, you and Hawkeye had only been in contact through letters peppered with dirty jokes and stupid puns and the bare suggestion that there was that loose end that the two of you would eventually have to address. The loose end that was the developing romance that was growing since you two had first met at the airport at Kimpo, and was pretty much full fledged before the war finally decided it had enough fun devastating innocent people.

It was a quiet moment then, you recall. When the war was announced finito and the festivities quieted down and it was apparent everybody wasn’t going to see each other anymore. You and Hawkeye did nothing extravagant or dramatic, only looked each other in the eye and gave one another a firm handshake.

... Then an unabashedly weepy hug, and then, hand in hand, scurrying away from the others saying their teary goodbyes to exchange frantic, wet kisses in the middle of the Swamp, barren and packed up. His hands grasping at your shoulders, your own hands dropping down to toy with his...

Well, it was quiet before. They do say the mind’s capacity for memory comes and goes as you age.

Anyways, you and Hawkeye parted on amicable (and sated) terms and the both of you went back to your respective hometowns to start living life again. On the flight back to the states, to Mill Valley, you dreaded having to suffer in silence about your newly realized attraction for men. It seemed like the doomed life Hawkeye had once spit lurid about in the wee hours of the night -- one where the once intrepid budding gay man submits to society and its heterosexual dogma and wastes away in a closet, with marriage to a woman and children he wished he could have raised with a wife who’s only a wife when he’s working late at night in the club.

Women, at least for you, has remained a staple on your diet. But to eventually learn Hawkeye was only putting on airs and pretending the queer nature of many of his jokes aren’t to be read into by the telling of this frightening tale, was enough to implant a very specific fear about going back home. Home to a woman named Peg who happens to be your wife and a daughter named Erin who you are raising with said wife, who, surprise, is a woman.

It was a pleasant surprise when Peg was the one to confess first, though you had it completely on your mind to confess first and pray the resulting anguish would cause her to find a better husband. It was Erin’s birthday two months later when you had the fantastic pleasure of meeting the classy and effervescent widow in two inch heels who was courting Peg while you were away being subtly courted by Hawkeye.

The divorce papers soon thereafter were quick and painless, and Erin delights in the concept of having three parents to beg for Christmas gifts and two houses to make a mess of. Three if you count the beach vista Gladys inherited from her deceased husband (who was her beard? lesbian beard?), both sides of the family had ancestors who were essentially primordial goop gaining sentience on 24 karat gold land as they arose from a hot steamy pool of cold hard cash.

Gladys was even nice enough to pay with her bounty your bungalow just a couple miles south from theirs, and it was Thanksgiving at your new abode with the spoon shoved vertically into the can of cranberry sauce when you told the gals about your own revelations, and it was a joyous time for all. Although Peg didn’t gloss over the way you mulled over confessing specifically about Hawkeye, who you’ve of course told about in your letters to her during the war. In a very flowery way too. Maybe it’s just impossible for you to keep secrets.

Nevertheless, you and Peg had wasted nights over the phone discussing about the possibility of you and Hawkeye seeing each other again in the flesh ever again, while the letters between you and him were still rolling at routine speed.

The six month mark was when the regularly scheduled letter didn’t come but rather a phone call. It was ten in the evening when the phone rang and interrupted your thrilling late night read of the latest medical journal. You picked up the phone expecting Peg or some telemarketer on intense overtime and heard that familiar voice and somehow you felt at that moment it was appropriate to scream.

Thank Gd you didn’t, it was one in the morning on Hawk’s side.

“Beej, is that you?” he said. He sounded sleepy but very alert, like this phone call was something he had anticipated on doing for a long time.

“That’s my name, worn out like a skivvy,” was what you managed to cobble together on short notice. “Twelve thread count.”

You could practically hear his grin, as well as the butterflies in your stomach attempting to take flight.

“Thought I patched it before I left.”

“What good can you do with skivvies mended with other worn out skivvies?”

  
  


\---

  
  


A week didn’t even pass before Hawkeye appeared at your doorstep following the fated phone call. You remember hugging him and feeling so, so comforted. Hawkeye only gave a peck on the cheek afterwards and you didn’t press it. You gave one back and he smiled gently.

He didn’t look any older than when you last saw him, but he looked antsy. Pressed for time or by some foreboding thought. You helped him move his stuff and made coffee, eggs, and bacon for him. In the evening you jerked each other off in your bedroom, kissing and panting and such, murmuring urgent words that simply couldn’t be understood, only felt against sweat slicked skin... It was after that, and then three months of complete silence about your forbidden military romance. Sometimes it looked like Hawkeye didn’t mind that.

  
  


\---

  
  


“So Kathy, buzzed out of her mind on cake and soda, thought it proper to give that rowdy Raymond boy a wallop!” Trapper says, throwing a punch into the air for dramatic measure. His whiskey was only a sip less. “Gee, I laughed my ass off when I saw it! Serves that kid right for teasing my girl. And Louise threw a fit when she caught wind of the incident, but Daddy knows sometimes a little physicality is necessary to inspire a little change.”

“Funny how it’s so true war decided to put that into action itself, except tenfold and for all the wrong reasons.” Hawkeye was on his second shot himself, buzzed only just the slightest and smiling serenely at Trapper, happy enough to sit and listen to Trapper tell stories about his life while maybe only saying one or two things in response. You tamp down your desire to gawk at Hawkeye’s unexpected shift in mannerisms -- unexpected at least, for someone who raves constantly about having the most rowdy, depraved times with the man they’re currently talking to.

“See, at least Kathy was able to instigate a war, end it, and do it to rectify a great injustice against her. She’s everything war isn’t: smart, cost efficient, adorable,”

“First time I’ve heard a 6 year old girl be considered cost efficient,” you chime in when the moment strikes you as the time to remind them you’re still there, listening in on the juicy rapport. The expression Trapper gives you is absolutely perplexing, maybe just a blank stare, but it’s almost like he’s sizing you up. Hawkeye is pouring himself another shot, his inhibitions loosening to regular Hawkeye form.

Trapper’s odd stare is quickly replaced with his trademark devilishly handsome grin. “Well it’s not like me and Louise have to spend thousands of dollars on weapons or penicillin or nothing,” he says, reclining smoothly against the armchair, deft fingers interlocking with one another around his glass. “a little Raggedy Ann doll goes a long way.”

“If you want a doll to go really far, try Pippi Longstocking instead.”

You both exchange friendly smiles while Hawkeye cackles a storm. Luckily, it seems you were overthinking Trapper’s intentions of being here -- Hawk had only requested he visit so they could catch up for a couple of days after having not seen each other for so long. You would breath a sigh of relief, but the two of you are engaged in the riveting rant Hawkeye suddenly comes into about how they were funny enough, no crabapples whatsoever at Crabapple Cove.

This feeling of ease stays until the night melts into the sky and the whiskey is down to half a last drop -- a quarter of it, even. Hawkeye claims he needs help being walked to the bathroom to let leash the water cannon and before you can volunteer your efforts, Trapper already has him in his arms and walking him down the hall with the grace of someone who still remembers how to do it for an old friend. And that’s when the unease starts to settle in again.

  
  


\---

  
  


You retire to your bedroom quite peacefully all things considered. There are only two bedrooms in the one hallway -- both at each end with the bathroom cutting in the middle quite conveniently -- and Trapper decided that it was quite alright to sleep on the couch, which was one of those new fangled pull out types that extended until you didn’t have to lie on it armrest to armrest. Hawk had bought it as a housewarming gift to you as soon as he picked up a job at a small clinic to help pay bills and sometimes, when you sit and really think about it, it’s almost as if it’s his convoluted way of saying he does want to be in a relationship with you.

But you really have to sit and think about it, because the first thought that always comes to mind is to just pull it out one day and ravage him silly on it.

Sliding under your covers with a giddy sigh, you think about how you have the whole weekend off to stay at home and sit in your boxers all day. Whether Trapper is a shoehorn in all of that is still to be debated, but so long as he doesn’t tell you to put on some pants while you’re watching “I Love Lucy”, you’re sure everything will be perfectly fine.

That’s when you hear the click of Hawkeye’s door from the other side, and soft padded tip toe sounds making its way to the living room.

... And that’s when you slide out of your covers with a frustrated sigh, tip toeing outside curiously to find out what Hawkeye is up to.

  
  


\---

  
  


“Beej,” Hawkeye pants. He’s recovering from one of his nightmares.

“I’m here Hawk,” you say, sitting next to him on his cot and rubbing his back soothingly. He’s leaned against you, hair cascading across his forehead and his palms sweaty. “Everybody’s alive Hawk.”

“But I saw all of your corpses in front of me. Bloody. Crippled. Fresh.”

“Those corpses aren’t here anymore Hawk.”

“Why can’t I believe you?”

“I’m right here aren’t I, I’m alive and everything. You said you saw me with my face mangled so bad you would have to do a complete reconstruction of my face.”

“And the only thing I could really look at were your eyes as they went cold on me.”

“But look,” he looks. “My gorgeous features are still here in all the right places.”

Hawkeye can’t keep down the small smile and moves, brushing his lips just lightly against your earlobe to your cheek until you turn to him and meet him with your own. It’s sweet and chaste and addicting. Hawk’s already moved away before you could tempt deepening it.

“So I know at least you’re alive,” he jokes, “as the only other living person, you’ve got no choice but to put up with me until death do us part.”

“The devil saw it right to torture you with your least favourite thing; marriage.”

“Promise to give me flowers every morning and take me out every Saturday,” he makes the movement to lie down again and you make room. He tucks himself in. “I get so bored around the house.”

“The whole world’s our little oyster house.”

“You’re the pearl.”

“I was thinking you were the pearl.”

“But you’ve got the sheen of one on your forehead to match.”

You run your fingers through Hawkeye’s bangs and pull it back to give him a lingering kiss on his forehead. “Good night, Hawkeye.”

“Good night, Beej.”

“Don’t get anymore bad dreams on my watch.”

“As long as you’re here my dreams will be as sweet as boardwalk cotton candy, as tender as ribs off the grill, as unctuous as--”

“Will you two miserable lovesick cretins sew your mouths shut and sleep,” Charles rouses and pointedly looks at you as you make your way back to your cot. “if you could save your tone deaf melodrama for a more appropriate hour so some of us can get our well deserved rest.”

“Speaking of unctuous,” Hawkeye mumbles. “Charles, do us a favour and knock yourself cold, the play needs its climax.”

“Bilge rats.”

Hawkeye sticks out his tongue before turning over and finally going to sleep himself. You smile, close your eyes, and end up having a nightmare of your own where Hawkeye leaves you for a figure indiscernible besides its juvenile smile.

  
  


\---

  
  


Trapper and Hawkeye are kissing. Their shirts have been discarded on the floor and Hawkeye is rubbing the front of Trapper’s chest while Trapper lightly grasps Hawk’s hips. They’re so immersed in one another they don’t spare you the glance as you very unstealthily jaunt in plain sight over to sit and hide behind the partition separating the kitchen from the living room.

From there you get a better vantage point of the situation. Trapper pushes Hawkeye down onto the couch, looming over him. He slips his hand into Hawk’s briefs, stroking him slowly while Hawk takes off Trapper’s briefs to reveal his leaking erection. You gulp and your cock stirs at the sight of it, shifting your legs in a vain attempt to tell it to quit it. Trapper’s hand does something that makes Hawkeye’s breathy murmuring sound even more unintelligible and rushed.

Your heart is practically pounding out of its chest as you play unintentional voyeur to your best friend and his other best friend. Any chance you try to move back to your room and perhaps solve your hard problem down under, you swear you see Hawkeye or Trapper turning their heads a smidge to the left. What shocks you above all is you feel like you’ll only get more aroused if they do catch you.

Suddenly, you hear Hawkeye gasp and you come back from your heady fantasies to turn to an even headier one -- Trapper with Hawk’s left leg in a death grip and pushed as far apart as possible while his other hand slips its fingers inside and toys with Hawkeye below. Hawkeye’s grinding and panting. He gulps his breath desperately and grips the back of the couch with his hands harder when Trapper’s fingers hook and drag out...

“You still sing like a canary when I do that,” Trapper mutters just within earshot, clearly pleased with the reaction he evoked out of Hawkeye.

“Please,” Hawkeye gasps wetly as Trapper repeats the motion and presses a kiss against his temple. “Please fuck me Trapper, hurry.”

“Patience Hawk,” Trapper chides him and brushes some of Hawkeye’s sweaty locks off his forehead as a gesture of complete compassion. “I like to savour one really long moment.”

“Then take a picture, that’ll last for ages! But right now, please get on with it,” Hawkeye’s exasperated comment gives him Trapper stilling completely in response. It’s during Hawk’s whines that you realize you’ve been palming yourself slowly to the scene playing out before you, and you’ve lost any conscionable desire to stop. You also realize you might have to keep your own heavy panting down.

Trapper’s fingers leave Hawkeye and positions are slightly adjusted, things surreptitiously prepared or cleaned, and then, Trapper throws his head back and groans loud and low as he slides himself painstakingly slow into Hawkeye.

Hawkeye inhales sharply and doesn’t breath until Trapper is finished sliding himself in. When Trapper is finished, rutting against Hawk’s ass desperate for release, Hawkeye lets out a choked breath of disbelief. He writhes, attempting to stave off the heat that’s enveloped his body, and the slight burn from pain. You keep your strokes slow and steady as to not make any sound and smear precum over your fingers for quick and easy lubricant. Your legs have strayed apart from one another unconsciously while your eyes stay trained on the two of them making out when Trapper finally begins to pull out and thrust.

Their pace is brisk but also measured. Trapper doesn’t pull out until he’s finished completely pressing back in, and he grunts under his breath with exertion. Hawkeye is rolling his hips in rhythm to Trapper and each time Trapper is up against him, filling him up, he arches his back and can only manage strangled whines of abject pleasure.

You almost bark out for Trapper to go faster, to go harder, but you opt to keep your mouth shut and commit to the task at hand. What you would do to just come with a celebratory shout and go to sleep after all this, to thoughts of Hawkeye under you with the sheets fisted, throwing his head back as you manhandle his legs apart and drink in the way he shouts your name when you...

You’re not sure you can even process it yourself, but all three of you are coming within seconds of each other, Trapper gritting out one final sated moan as he erratically thrusts inside Hawkeye, riding out his orgasm while Hawk thrashes underneath him. Both you and Hawk are gasping for air as come paints both of your hands and a pleasant silence fills the room as everybody finally settles down.

Ignoring your desire to just slump over and snooze, you look away and amble around for a tissue to clean yourself up with unceremoniously, keeping your ear trained for any sounds that suggest one of them was going to come near. You hear playful banter and bodies moving against mussed up sheets.

Quietly, you make your way back to your room when you peek just for a second to see the two of them holding each other. Hawkeye’s head is buried in Trapper’s chest and his body, curled around the other man’s larger frame.

They looked like they waited for this for a long time.

  
  


\---

  
  


“So,” you say, as you pull your green army shirt over your head, “who is this ‘Trapper’?”

Hawkeye buckles his belt back up and fixes his hair under the dim sunlight that breaks through the tiny mailslot sized window that hangs above the both of you. Some of the light catches on dingy metal boxes and displaced syringes sitting on the top shelf.

“He was the guy before you came along,” he mumbles, almost as if he wants to avoid answering. “The guy you replaced.”

“You told me that before, at the bar in Kimpo,” you respond. He grunts and you hand him his jacket. “I also know that he was your best friend.”

“Then I’ve told you everything,” Hawkeye says as he shrugs on his jacket. “Mister ‘Trapper’,” he puts on the same air quotes as you did, “John McIntyre was my previous Swamp mate. We were the best of friends, and the day I met you just so happened to be the day he left stateside, back to Boston.”

“You can’t possibly tell me there isn’t more to your guys’ relationship,” you say in disbelief, rightfully so. “Guess whose name you moaned when I gave you that hickey!”

Despite Hawk’s obvious unwilling disposition, you helpfully point at the bruised skin that peeks from behind the collar of his shirt. He looks at you like he’s going to tell you off in a fit of touchy rage, but he sighs and looks down, submitting to your questions.

“Alright,” he finally says, after a period of contemplative silence. “I’ll spill.”

You don’t suppress your victorious laugh and clap. “But not here!” Hawkeye points a finger just inches from your face. “Let’s get back to the Swamp and have a couple of martinis, on me. I’m gonna need to be a little tipsy if you’re gonna make me spill the most of it.”

Another giddy grin from yours truly. “Alright, keep it in your pants!” Hawkeye turns away at that point and opens the supply shed door for you. “You’re lucky you’re easy on the eyes.”

“Leave it to your good ol’ pal BJ Honey-cutt to lay the persuasion on sweet and smooth!”

“I’m not gonna laugh at your pun this time, Captain.”

The two of you make it to the Swamp, sans Frank, and promptly get yourselves reasonably wasted. It’s the third martini when you ask again and Hawkeye, lying down on his cot and turning the martini glass over and over again, starts to speak.

“Me and Trapper hit it off really quick,” he says, putting the glass down and laying his enfolded hands on his stomach. “There was no way I wasn’t not going to become this guy’s friend for the duration of this shitty awful war, is what I thought to myself when we laughed at each other’s first wisecracks.

“We grew close, I would think. Very close. I had my first nightmare after a particularly bad surgery -- one I saved from the edge of death, but just barely. It was a month since we first met. He came running over immediately and held me in his arms and it was like at that moment, I felt it was okay to just lose myself.”

“Lose yourself in more ways than one,” you piece together thoughtfully. Hawkeye nods.

“I wasn’t even done sobbing when I broke our embrace to smash our lips together. I thought Trapper was going to push me away, call me ‘queer’ or other nasty things.

“But he reciprocated. Quite hungrily I might add. We were both so desperate for comfort, starved for human touch and in need of something that could just... Stave off the relentless despair that was simply being stationed here.” You’ve taken to lying down on your cot as well, staring up at the ceiling as Hawkeye weaved his story.

“But was it just sex?”

Hawkeye shakes his head. “Oh Gd, no,” his words nearly dropped to a faint murmur before he brought it back up. “Maybe for the first couple of months it was just, heh, come and go, but at one point we both realized we wanted more from each other. The want to be with one another forever, to support each other and make love like newlyweds. Move in together after the war, even.

Hawkeye pauses and his eyes look distant. “I guess that’s when we also realized that that simply wasn’t going to be possible. Trapper still loved his wife and daughters very much, you know. Would chat your ear off about those two girls of his if you let him. He loved me maybe just as much, but he wasn’t ready to give it all up for something that the both of us weren’t even sure would last.”

“And what about you?” you ask, contemplating whether another drink just because would be nice.

“I had my own reservations but I was willing to commit,” Hawkeye muses. “He really... For those months up until his departure, I really had him pegged as my one and only, you know?”

“You saw yourself living with him in a little cottage by the sea.”

“Hah,” Hawkeye laughs, in a noncommittal sort of way. “A dingy Manhattan apartment would have been just as beautiful. And I know he felt the same exact way.”

“So what, in the end, stopped you guys from fulfilling that?”

“Plenty of things, so let’s just blame it on the cause of everything: War.

“It was war that made me stressed enough for me to take that three day R&R, made me not respond to the phone calls from Radar soon enough...”

“War was what brought you two together,” you supply to the expected ire of Hawkeye. Yet he doesn’t fashion any sort of anger for you; his eyes, which had ceased to look in the present, suddenly looked sharp and in focus.

“So it was war’s fault as well that I fell in love with someone I couldn’t be with.”

You actually thank the Lord for Frank to walk in as it dawned on you that you had nothing to say to that. He had his regular sour look on his face -- Hawkeye eyed him up dispassionately.

“Frank, are you okay?” Hawk asks, too emotionally preoccupied to prod Frank for his many shortcomings.

“You speak to your mother with that mouth,” Frank grumbles. He sits on his cot, throws off his boots, and then tries to bury himself into his cot as deep as possible.

“Well, I can’t say I didn’t try,” is what Hawkeye says, only loud enough for you to hear. You shrug.

“Try harder next time,” is what you decide to say back, “you’ll get to him eventually.”

  
  


\---

  
  


You’ve tried everything. From cleaning the house, to reading your most recent medical journals, to watching the initial airing of today’s “I Love Lucy” episode without your pants and then watching the rerun of it with. You can’t seem to shake off the events of last night.

It’s like every time you find a new thing to occupy yourself with, your mind revisits the wild voyeur act you pulled on Hawkeye and Trapper. Not just the whole misstep of you spying on them, but also the fact that you watched as the man you so desperately wanted to be with have sex with the man who he supposedly couldn’t be with. Doesn’t Trapper have his wife and two daughters to go back to? You can’t begin to piece it together just as much as you can’t piece together why Hawkeye hasn’t talked about what had happened throughout the war to bring the two of you together like this.

Did you even get away with it? You’re not quite sure of that yourself. But Hawkeye didn’t confront you this morning, and neither did Trapper. He did flash you that same perplexing expression, but you try to not overthink it in favour of being as hospitable as possible for your debatably welcome guest.

Hawkeye had left an hour or so ago to buy some groceries -- said he wanted to prepare an actual feast unlike the quick alcohol binge of yesterday. He was going to be taking ideas from this recipe book his father had mailed to him a couple weeks ago called the “The Italian Bible” that, as one would guess, is filled with an assortment of pasta dishes and ways to use tomatoes and basil. He also told you and Trapper to sit tight and let him do all the work, but you’re adamant in being at his side for anything he could possibly need, even if he doesn’t really need you.

You walk into the kitchen for a snack after rearranging your bedroom for the third time. This time, you put your bed next to the window, your dresser against its backboard, and your wardrobe in the corner where your dresser was.

You shut the fridge door after fetching a large red apple and turn around to meet eyes with Trapper, who’s nursing a cup of coffee at the dinner table for seemingly the entire time you’ve been here, maybe even more.

“Yo,” you say after a small pause, shuffling your feet against the tile while you shined the apple on your shirt.

“Okay, listen,” Trapper breaks his line of sight to look at the liquid inside his cup. He gestures for you to take a seat next to him and when you do, he’s back to making eye contact. “I don’t know how to say this -- well, I do, but I just don’t know how you’re gonna take it.”

“No, no, go ahead,” you decide you want to cut your apple and lean backwards to open the silverware drawer for a paring knife. “I can handle it.” You make the first cut and decide whimsically to try to do one of those apple peel spirals. Something to occupy your attention.

“I know you were spying on me and Hawk when we were screwing last night.”

You narrowly slice your thumb. Trapper’s stare flits between your mishap -- which you recover from, with some grace -- and your eyes.

“I was just getting a midnight snack.” you lie, pitifully. You avoid his stare, dark and pressing, and scrap the idea of doing a spiral and opt to just take a large bite.

“Could have announced yourself before we made ourselves your personal little porno.” he says, with an interesting pleased expression as you feel yourself flush under the collar.

“So can I just assume you’re not at all mad at me,” you say, pretending you’re not embarrassed and mad about the whole thing. “In fact if I may say, it sounds like you liked that I was there, jerking off to my best friend having sex with his best friend.”

“You’re right on the money, pal.”

“Does Hawkeye know?”

“He was being fucked sideways and back into the sofa by yours truly. If he did know, I’d have to do a better job next time.”

“Next time?”

Trapper puts his hand on yours, that’s when you notice your hand is suddenly a fist. “Hey, cool it, alright? I’m not here to steal him away from you, he’s already yours!”

“I highly doubt that.” You remove your hand from his in frustration.

“Well the two of you are living together in this house, aren’t ya?”

“This is pretty much just his bed and breakfast,” you mutter, taking another bite of the apple you realized you still have. “It’s been three months since he came over to live with me and he hasn’t said a thing! Who knows how he really feels about me.”

“You’ve got to be pulling my leg,” Trapper says, flabbergasted. He leans back on the chair to emphasize his complete shock. This is where you look just as confused. “You’re telling me Hawk’s giving you the good ol’ run around and you haven’t done anything to rectify that?”

And this is the part where you look a little meek. Remorseful, even. Trapper practically scoffs.

“You know he called me because he said he was having trouble,” he puts his hands behind his head and casts a long look over your entire form. “But I didn’t expect the problem to be, well, you.”

“I didn’t know you guys were in contact this entire time.”

“Kinda. We found each other a couple months after the war and starting sending cutesy letters. Then came the phone calls, and then eventually we would visit each other for, heh, recreational activities... I could never turn down his offers,”

“Do you still love him?”

Trapper smiles. It’s bittersweet.

“I’d drop everything at the drop of a hat to do what he tells me to, even if it is to come over to help the two of you get together.”

  
  


\---

  
  


“Heeeeeey Hawk! Haven’t heard from ya in a while, what have you been up to recently?”

“I have to make this short, Trap.” you say, as you pace as far as the phone cord will let you. “Come see me, as soon as possible.”

“Why, what’s the matter?” you hear the squeals of Kathy and Becky playing with a barking dog. “Hawk, don’t tell me. You’re not getting arrested, are you?”

“Unfortunately, no.” your eyes drift towards a framed picture of you and BJ. It was when the two of you went for a small weekend trip back to Crabapple Cove. To try a real authentic crawfish boil and other such things. You remember walking with him on the beach, sated, and for a brief moment, completely in over your head.

He kissed you near the tide and felt it tickle your feet just barely, and it felt so natural of him to cradle your head in his hands and look at you with utter adoration. It was overstimulating, to say the least.

“Listen Hawk you better make the request quick,” Trapper warns, and you hear Louise calling for him. “Louise is telling me the babysitter’s here, we’re going to this one place with terrific clam chowder -- hey, if you visit again we should try it together sometime, really! I hear the rolls themselves are so good they’ll make you chain yourself to your chair--”

“Just come over,” you finally say. BJ in the picture plays witness, with his sunny complexion and friendly smile. “You’ll figure it out. I think you might be just what I need.”

“Now I’m about to leave to have a nice date with my wife, if you really just called so we can--”

“No no no,” you look at yourself in the picture, gangly and peculiar next to BJ’s lean but sturdy frame. You remember a lot of the local girls sneaking peeks at him. “Well, if you want to I wouldn’t object but -- look, just come over, you’ll see what’s going on the minute you knock on the door.”

Louise shouts again, louder. “Okay, I got it. Better go now while Louise is still up for it, you always call at some pretty awful times.”

“It’s part of my charm: if I can call while someone’s wife is giving birth and he still meets me ten minutes before I even asked, I know he’s a keeper.”

“See ya, Hawk.”

“Ta ta and so long for now,”

“I’m late, I’m late, I’m late!”

  
  


\---

  
  


“See, doesn’t this look absolutely delicious?”

“It’s pasta,” you say, tactlessly. “A whole lot of it.”

“So many carbs you need a tow truck to take them to the impound lot.”

“I think the carbs can drive quite nicely in there all by themselves.”

“And stay there for a long time.”

“Beej, Trapper, I can’t take it anymore. If we don’t start digging into this lobster primavera soon, I’ll sincerely, completely, absolutely, go nuts.”

“Flying to Rome will take faster than finishing all of this.”

“Then we mustn’t wait a second longer! Dig in my fellow musketeers, onwards!”

Both you and Trapper do as you’re asked, and exchange a confirming glance. Are we really going to do this tonight, you try to say with your eyes. Trapper nods with a determined look, turning away only to chuckle at Hawkeye lifting his fork and, in peak Hawkeye fashion, taking an exploratory sniff at his food before putting it into his mouth.

You turn back and engorge yourself in the meal before you. Hawkeye didn’t need help at all making it.

It’s delicious.

  
  


\---

  
  


This is crazy. You’re not sure you understand the logistics of having to stand outside Hawkeye’s room while you wait for Trapper’s signal. Your ears pick up Hawkeye’s muffled moans.

“Fuck, Trapper...!”

“Pipe down Hawk, or I’ll throw another curveball at ya...” That’s the signal. There was no way to fit “The cuckoo bird’s raided the coop.” into regular sex talk.

You try to put on your best face and open the door as casually as you can. The sight punches air out of your lungs.

Hawkeye is straddling Trapper, halfway through lowering himself on Trapper’s cock. His back is sweaty with exertion, and his head is lowered, bringing his hair to cover his eyes. You want so bad to be the one below him.

He snaps his head to you, and then to Trapper. “Trapper, you--” if he could get any more red in the face, he’d be liable to pass out. Trapper shoots him a cheeky winning smile.

“My, my, my,” Trapper adorns a saccharine Southern drawl, lifting himself up to hold Hawk in place while you wordlessly shut the door behind you and make your way to the bed, cozying up behind Hawk. His attempts to protest are shut down when you run your hands down his arms. “G’day to you mister Hunnicutt, what are you doing on this fine Saturday evening?”

“Well mister McIntyre,” you chirp back, planting a wet kiss on the back of Hawkeye’s neck. It makes him flinch and gasp as he lowers himself faster than he’d like, he wiggles his hips to stave off the fullness. “I do believe I am here to pleasure a mister Benjamin Franklin ‘Hawkeye’ Pierce?”

“I do declare!” Trapper fakes wonderment and Hawkeye’s ass meets the top of Trapper’s thighs. “Small world, ain’t it?” He gives an experimental thrust and the two of you relish in the resulting moan.

“Right you are, kind sir,” you’re handed a condom and a tube of you-know-what from Trapper while he distracts Hawkeye by slipping his tongue inside his mouth, moving languidly as Hawk rolls his hips. You slip on the condom and squirt a generous amount of the substance onto your fingers, warming it up while you absentmindedly pepper Hawk’s back with kisses and drink in his needy sounds. Your hand roams and brushes against his leaking erection.

Hawk jolts when your lubed up fingers play with his entrance, still filled with Trapper.

“Oh my Gd,” Hawkeye starts panting deliriously as you tease the penetration of one of your fingers. “Oh my Gd, you’re kidding. You’re kidding, you’re not gonna-- Trap, is he gonna--”

“Settle down Hawk,” Trapper pats Hawkeye’s backside as a soothing gesture and envelops his lips again with his own, muffling their moans and groans when you slip one digit inside.

The heat coiling inside you is becoming unbearable, watching Hawkeye take your fingers and Trapper’s cock at the same time. What you would do to just pull them out and sink your own member in in one continuous swift motion; to see Hawk arch his back and keen, and press back against you to get you deeper inside... But you relent in favour of preparing him as carefully as possible, with slow deliberate hooks and stretches that make both him and Trapper gasp.

When you just can’t take it anymore, you pull out your fingers and lube up your member -- careful to stroke yourself slow and not bring yourself to an early finish. You throw a nod at Trapper and Trapper lays back down, taking Hawkeye with him and as a result, exposing more of himself down there. You whistle, impressed, and Hawk smacks you with his foot, which gets a chuckle out of Trapper. You kneel-walk closer and in one hand, grab Hawk’s hip tightly and in the other, using two fingers to hook open his hole a little wider, so you can take a deep breath, and begin to penetrate.

The intrusion has all three of you moaning. Hawkeye’s curled over and trying in vain to hide his face in between Trapper’s (admittedly) fantastic pectorals, his ragged breathing driving out the silence in the room. His grip on Trapper’s shoulders tighten as you rock in just a little bit deeper. He’s so warm, so tight. You tell this to him, and he flushes as far as his shoulder blades. Trapper grits his teeth and urges you to hurry up and you oblige, sliding in further and causing more delicious sounds to break out of Hawk’s loose lips.

The moment the base of your cock meets with Trapper’s is when you yourself are so delirious with arousal you already start to pull out. When you do, Hawkeye does a full body shudder and quite nearly drops his full weight on Trapper below him. Trapper himself is flushed and panting, groaning with a pleased expression gracing his face. He’s a looker, you admit. The reasons that could be listed for anyone to fall in love with him is clear to see when you first cast eyes on him. It’s then easy to see why Hawkeye also sees it appropriate to see him every so often.

“Beej,” Hawk breathes out. “Beej, Trap, Beej, Trap, Beej,”

“Pick one and stick with it,” you gasp as you plunge in again and feel the pleasure come to you as electric down the spine. Trapper grits his teeth, plants his feet on the mattress, and tries his hand at thrusting himself. The result makes Hawkeye scream.

“Beej, fuck,” he keens when the thrusts start to pick up a rhythm -- as you pull out, Trap pushes in, and vice versa. You grab Hawkeye and lift him up so you can turn his head to the side and kiss him violently, Hawkeye responding in kind while you try to go faster, harder.

Trapper is the first to go, his eyes fluttering shut and his body tensing. He grips Hawk’s thighs so hard you bet small bruises will appear in the morning. He slips out and causes the two of you to groan. There’s some adjusting until Trapper is on the side of the bed and Hawkeye is on his back, your hands underneath his knees and your cock lining up again to slide in. This time, you tease him with it -- sliding in until halfway, stopping, and then pulling out again and repeating the process.

You don’t even get to do it a third time before Hawkeye, with a shameless whine, wraps his legs around you and, with the help of Trapper’s hand on your lower back, brings your hips closer to him until they meet with his again. Your cock glides in and the heat and almost unbearable tightness surrounding your cock elicits a shout from you. The two of you rut desperately and erratically and you both come with long breathy moans, your hips rolling against his as you ride it out.

A tranquility settles into the room as you pull out, whisper an apology to Hawk when he winces, and take off your condom, tying and throwing it into the trash unceremoniously. You help Trapper settle him down onto the bed in between you and him. The two of you seem to have the same idea in your head as you both close in on him and start kissing the sides of his neck, cuddling him while he lies there, staring at the ceiling.

Hawkeye makes a face of disgruntlement, “How long have you guys planned this,” he breaks the silence and also makes a motion to swat the two of you away from trying to get him aroused again.

“Only since you left to buy groceries,” you respond, a complete look of innocence on your face. Trapper mimics the same face when Hawkeye turns to stare daggers at him.

“We did it because I think I figured out what you were having trouble with,” Trapper says, “you’ve been pussyfooting around a real cute romance and you needed me to light the fire under the ass to get you to make some kind of move.”

“And your idea of ‘lighting the fire under my ass’ is to put two hotdogs in between the bun, okay, how exactly does that work?”

“I didn’t really see it as working per say,” Trapper admits. “I just wanted to do it because mister loverboy here seemed up for it. Plus it sounded super hot.”

“It was super hot,” you add. “Very, very, very hot.”

“It was like an oven inside you, Hawk.”

“Please,” he groans, wanting to turn and face away from it all but realizing it’s impossible with you and Trapper on both sides. “spare me the weird details. I know we’re all doctors but none of us majored in proctology, either.”

“Right,” you say, laying a hand over Hawk’s stomach. “Let’s just get right to it then. What are we?”

“We,” Hawkeye begins, eyes darting around the ceiling as if searching for answers. “... We,”

“We?”

“We.”

“We?”

“We.”

“Is we me? Is we you? Is we us? Are we me he be she? For Christ’s sake, Hawkeye, answer the question!” Trapper exclaims. You stifle a smile that isn’t the content, neutral one you have right now.

“Alright, alright,” Hawkeye concedes. He pauses, then takes a long breath. “I would... fashion the guess that we are... lovers.”

“Lovers.”

“Maybe even... boyfriends.”

“Scandalous.”

“The words that come out of your mouth, sir Pierce!”

“Quiet, you... Listen, BJ, I can’t even begin to express how much I love you. I love you so much, I can’t bear the idea of losing you in any way, shape, or form. If I could scream it from the roofs and hightops, I would, but that would get me stoned in some places.”

“I’m touched.”

“When realizing I loved you, I also realized that... I needed you, and that made me uncomfortable, knowing that you’re who I need to be with constantly, lest I lose it.

“And I felt uncomfortable too, thinking about how you’re just too good for a guy like me. A guy who has to make a joke at any waking moment to avoid his own internal turmoil. A guy who’s had problems before giving enough love to people so they don’t walk out on him.”

“Hawkeye,” you shush him before he can go on. The way your shoulders touch on this double bed is the closest you’ve ever felt with him, somehow. “I think you underestimate how much I need to feel needed.” you say, turning to look at him, and finding that he’s been looking at you the entire time. “You’re able to do that for me Hawkeye. You’re the someone I fight for constantly, protect from danger, and support until the end of time.”

Your faces are inches away. Hawkeye’s eyes are so blue and large. “When you called me three months ago, I could barely hide my excitement. It felt like then was the starting point of our lives, together.”

“I’m sorry for not talking about this with you earlier.” You wipe the tear from his eye as it ekes out. “I thought if I waited it out we could become best friends again, because being best friends is easier.”

“Hey now,” Trapper rolls over on his side and shoots a pointed look at Hawk, feigning offense. “I’ve been your best friend turned lover turned best friend longer and I can tell, to BJ right now that it’s not any easier!”

Hawkeye turns to look at him. “Oh, Trapper, I forgot you were here. You’re like my fairy Gd-lice, always there but too small for me to notice, but a persisting itch nonetheless.”

“I’ve got a solid inch on you, pal.”

“Perhaps,” Hawkeye says, while looking towards Trapper’s boxers. Trapper feigns being scandalized and lays back down.

“Being best friends would have been harder,” you think out loud. “All the times we’ve treated each other like lovers anyway only to know we were only friends, that killed me.”

“Well it doesn’t have to be that way anymore,” is what Hawkeye says, with an air of finality. “We’re lovers, and you can try to outrun me, but I know all the places you like to hide.”

“And I know yours too, so we’re even.”

“What I’m thinking, really, is,” Trapper interrupts again, drawing immense pleasure from getting a rise out of Hawk. “Did I really have to be here? I mean really, this was just another call for sex, wasn’t it? You just wanted to fuck good ol’ Trapper John one more time before you joined the monogamists, just one more--”

Hawkeye rolls his eyes with a smirk and then throws the pillow from underneath you at him.

“Quiet, my concubine.” he gives you back your pillow. “Me and my husband are having a discussion.”

You adjust the pillow back and urge everyone to get off the blankets so you could all slip under it. “How about you have your discussion when the sun’s out,” Trapper says, punctuating his statement with a yawn. “I’m all tuckered out from you using me like a piece of meat.”

“You’re a very good quality piece of meat.”

“And what am I, chopped liver?” Hawkeye gives you a chaste kiss at your mock sad face.

“You’re chopped liver I’m gonna spend the rest of my life with.”

“Ah, that heals my bruised self esteem.”

“I’ll play doctor to that.”

“Okay, let’s actually get some shut-eye.” Trapper bemoans, and then shoves his head underneath his pillow. “I can’t take this sugary stuff no more.”

You wriggle near Hawkeye, hold him, and do exactly that.

  
  


\---

  
  


You meet Trapper outside on the porch as the sun just barely peaks over the buildings and trees on the east with two mugs and a pot of fresh brewed coffee.

“Thanks very kindly,” he says when you offer him a mug and pour him his fill. He takes a long sip.

“Before you leave, I still have some questions for you.” you say after a silent moment of observing the sun rise and the taste of coffee on your tongue.

“I’m all ears.”

“If you love Hawkeye so much, why didn’t you be with him?”

Trapper looks on quietly. “Besides you still loving your wife and everything,” you elaborate. “Hawk was very clear to me before that the two of you wanted the same things we have now.”

He finishes his cup and refills it himself, and then crosses his legs.

“Hm,” he mulls it over. “I suppose because when the time came when I was absolutely willing to leave it all behind -- divorce the wife, fight custody with her for the girls, calculate alimony and all that other stuff, he had already found someone else to put his heart and soul into.”

“Now I can only assume that would be the very talented me.”

“You would be right,” he smiles and looks at you. “Before I left him during the war, I was waiting on my hands and knees praying he’d come back from R&R so I could leave my piece with him. But the deadline inched closer and closer until it just wasn’t possible to wait any longer, and so I had to bail on him.”

“That broke his heart, you know.” you say that even though you’re aware he’s aware himself.

“Gd, and I still can’t live with the guilt!” he cries out in a fit of dramatics, throwing his head back in anguish. “He’s like a little puppy boy thing. Can’t leave him alone for ten minutes or you’ll come back to find he thought you died.”

“He’ll stage an elaborate funeral and have monogrammed invitations.”

“Somehow, he convinces your parents that you’re dead too.”

You both break out in a fit of laughter. “Hawkeye really is a piece of work.”

“I still love him though, I really do. I’ll love him until time just gives up on us.”

“You going to try to steal him back now that he’s officially accounted for?”

“Gd no,” Trapper says, a definitive tone engrossing his voice. He forces a chuckle this time. “I love him too much to take him away from the one person he can depend on, for now and ever.”

“He still called you, Trapper.” you watch as tears fall silently down his cheeks. “He still needs you in his life just as much as he needs me.”

“Gee,” Trapper sniffles and rubs his eyes with his fists, choking back a sob. “It just don’t feel the same, you know. Don’t you start with that “I’m sorry” crap, by the way. What I said was what I said, I mean it.”

“Then, thank you.” you clap him on his back as a gesture of goodwill and he grins defeatedly. “Thank you for your brave and heroic action, your noble sacrifice, soldier.”

“If you said that to me during the war, I would have laughed my nunny off.”

  
  


\---

  
  


“And make sure to call!” Trapper is yelling at the both of you from his cab, leaving an irate impression on the cab driver -- a stout and unpleasant looking man, who wants nothing more to drop dead where he sits. “Call a lot more often, is what I mean to say!”

“You’ll pay more for your phone bill than on Christmas presents!” Hawkeye assures him from the front door. You’re puttering around in the kitchen getting a quick lunch ready, slicing a Pullman loaf while the bacon fries tantalizingly on the cast iron pan. An episode of “You Bet Your Life” is playing in the background.

“My favourite thing to watch with my children are cops and robbers movies!” the female contestant says, beaming with pride. Groucho in typical Groucho fashion fingers his cigar, and barks, “And your husband’s favourite thing to say to you is ‘This is a stick up!’” The audience hoots and hollers for that one.

“Tell Kathy to take up boxing when she gets older!” is the last thing Hawkeye yells to Trapper before you hear the cab pull out of the driveway and drive off. Hawk lingers at the door just a little longer to see it completely fade from his view.

“Close the door, honey,” you say, a weird shiver dancing on your back. Honey. Maybe you shouldn’t use that one for a while. “it’s mosquito season, and lunch is ready.”

“Alright dear!” Dear. From his lips, it feels so right.

When he approaches you, you immediately catch him in a dip and give him a big sloppy kiss.

“Agh-- Pluh!” Hawkeye pushes your head away, but you’re persistent. “Saliva?! This is the worst lunch ever!” You chase him down until he’s on the kitchen tile and you’re over him with a plate of BLTs in one hand and the other supporting you. The iced tea is sweating on the counter.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do, so let me have actual lunch and maybe then I’ll reconsider.” You release him from your looming presence and he plucks a sandwich from your platter. He sniffs, of course, and then scarfs it down.

“Okay,” he says, swallowing his last bite. “I’ve reconsidered, this lunch is not the worst, but it’s not one of the best.”

“How can I make it the best?” you help him up and give him a glass of iced tea, which he very happily accepts.

“Tell me all the things you love about me while I nurse this delicious and peculiar tincture,” he decides, leading you over with the tray of sustenance to the couch, notably pulled back into a normal sofa. “And then give me your firstborn child!”

“I’ll have to ask Peg, we could probably have Erin over for the week.” you reply thoughtfully, your mind not set on giving a witty response. When you finish setting the tray down, you feel the weight of Hawk’s head on your shoulder.

“And soon, soon, Igor! Our Frankenstein will be complete! Now, my compliments, please!”

There’s a lot to be said about Hawkeye. There’s too much to be said.

  
  


\---

  
  


“Do you still love me for all my faults?”

“What faults, you’re perfect!”

  
  


[END]


End file.
